


It's My Life

by AllThoseOtherWorlds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Post-Episode: s09e14 Captives, Sam has demon blood in him, Sam in Heaven, Sam's agency, Sam's bodily autonomy, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThoseOtherWorlds/pseuds/AllThoseOtherWorlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all the blood loss in Captives, Sam needs to get a transfusion. Unfortunately, something about the demonic blood in his veins doesn't react well with the addition, and his body starts to shut down. In the face of imminent death, his only concern is making sure that Dean doesn't do anything against his will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's My Life

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do not make money from this.**
> 
> **Secondary disclaimer: I know next to nothing about medicine and the human body, and I'm blaming any inconsistencies with reality on Sam's demon blood. Because I really don't know.**
> 
> **Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome! Even if you didn't finish reading the piece, I'd like to know what you did and/or didn't like**
> 
> **Written for the Story a Day prompt "Hospital".**

                When Sam woke up in the hospital, it took him a moment to realize where he was. All he remembered was the hunt – the vampires, Jody, Alex – and it was a surprise to hear the constant beeping of heart monitors and the bright hospital lighting instead of the dark silence of the Bunker.

                “…Dean?” he asked, figuring that at the very least, his brother could provide him with an explanation. He looked around, but couldn’t find his brother. _Probably just went for coffee or something_ , he told himself.

                With that source of information gone, he turned to his own body for clues. He was weak, and tired, and vaguely nauseous. There was a slight ache all over that he couldn’t quite place, but he was conscious and breathing, which was probably good.

                He suddenly remembered the last time he was in a hospital and had to fight back a panic attack. “ _Not_ possessed,” he reminded himself, hoping it was the truth. Still, his thumb found its way to the old, familiar spot on his other hand and he dug into the long-since-healed flesh in hopes of grounding himself in reality.

                He was starting to feel a bit better by the time Dean came back, coffee and doughnut in hand.

                “Sam!” he said, coming to sit by the hospital bed. “I’m glad you’re awake, man. How are you feeling?”

                “What happened?” Sam asked. “Why am I in a hospital?” He kept the _‘please tell me the truth’_ to himself.

                “Uh, blood loss,” Dean told him. “I guess the vamps got you pretty good. Apparently it was just adrenaline that kept you going until we were done – then you collapsed.”

                “Oh,” Sam frowned. “How much longer do I have to stay here? They gave me a blood transfusion, right?” He figured they must have, since he was conscious. He was actually feeling a bit worse than when he’d woken up – the ache had intensified, and he was still nauseous – but he reasoned that it was probably just a bad reaction to something the hospital was using in the air fresheners or whatever. He was allergic to weird stuff sometimes.

                “I dunno,” Dean said. “The doc should be back soon, then we can find out, okay?”

                “Okay,” Sam said, sighing into the pillows. He wanted to question Dean more, make sure that he was being told the truth, but he was tired and it was getting harder to focus on anything. In the end, he had to resign himself to the pull of sleep and save his questioning for later.

***

                Dean watched as Sam drifted off to sleep once again and sighed, pulling out his brother’s laptop to do more research. As a matter of fact, the doctor _had_ told Dean how his brother was doing, and it wasn’t good. Apparently in a _very_ _very_ few cases people had bad reactions to blood transfusions, and Sam was in that minority. The doctor had never seen anything like it, and although they were doing all they could to help, Dean knew they wouldn’t be able to do jack about it. He didn’t need to be a medical genius to guess that it wasn’t the transfusion that was the problem – it was the demonic influence in Sammy’s blood.

                The doctors were saying that Sam would be okay for maybe a week, but unless they found something soon he wouldn’t last much more than that. Dean, of course, wasn’t buying it. There had to be something. There was _always_ something, even if it was something they would never ordinarily do.

                _“I would do it again,”_ he remembered saying to Sam, but he never thought the situation would actually get back to that.

                He should tell his brother what the diagnosis was. He was _going_ to tell him. He was. He just needed time to think, and research, and come up with a solution. There had to be a solution.

***

                When Sam woke up, his head was pounding but he was feeling a bit more lucid than the last time he’d been awake. He turned slightly, flinching at the spike of pain the motion caused, and was greeted by the sight of Dean turning worried eyes on him as he looked up from Sam’s laptop.

                “Hey, Sam, how are you feeling?”

                “M’head hurts,” Sam said. “But other than that, fine, I guess. A bit sore. I think I may be allergic to something in the air around here.” He paused, remembering what Dean had told him before he drifted off. “Hey, has the doctor come by yet?”

                “Not yet,” Dean told him.

                “Hmm.” That didn’t seem right to Sam. Doctors usually checked on their patients at some point after something like this, right? At any rate, he needed to know what the situation was, and he didn’t think he trusted Dean to give it to him.

                “Well, there’s got to be a way to get his attention,” Sam said. He looked around for one of the buttons they usually had in hospitals to get a nurse, and smiled to himself when he found it. Dean looked like he wanted to protest, which Sam filed away for later, but he pressed the button before his brother could say anything.

                In no time at all he was greeted by one of the nurses, who asked him kindly if there was anything wrong.

                “No, no,” he assured her. “I was just wondering if I could talk to the doctor who treated me.”

                “Of course,” she said. “I’ll tell him you’re awake and he’ll come when he can.”

                Sam nodded his thanks and sank back into the pillows before turning to face Dean.

                “Dean,” he said. “I’m asking you again: what happened? You know the doctor’s going to tell me the truth, so whatever you’re hiding, don’t.”

                Dean flinched, then looked down guiltily. Sam’s heart plummeted. “Dean, you didn’t…”

                “No!” Dean protested. “I didn’t Sammy, I swear. I’m still looking for a solution, but I swear to anything that’s actually still holy that you’re not possessed.” What he didn’t add – didn’t _have_ to add – was that if he thought Sam would benefit from being possessed, he would be.

                Sam just had to take it as enough that he probably wasn’t actually possessed at the moment.

                He was going to press Dean further, ask for more details, when he saw the doctor striding into the room. “Hello, Sam,” he said, looking kind but also much too sympathetic for Sam to be comfortable.

                “Hello,” Sam greeted him. “I was wondering if you could tell me what happened? I got a blood transfusion, right?”

                The doctor glanced sharply at Dean, but his face softened and he looked back at his patient. “Yes, you did. Sam,” he said gently, “We used the right kind of blood, and everything we use is screened for stuff that could cause problems like this, but I’m afraid that there was some sort of a negative reaction between your system and the transfusion.”

                “Negative reaction?” Sam asked, thinking of the nausea and aches, and already seeing where this was headed.

                “Yes,” the doctor said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Sam thought distantly that he didn’t have to be – it wasn’t as if the news he was going to deliver (fatal, probably) was really anything new. “We are doing all we can to remedy the situation, but if we don’t find something soon…”

                “How long?” Sam asked. Dean opened his mouth, but Sam shot him a glare and he closed it with a snap, although his eyes said that they _would talk_ about this later.

                The doctor was back to looking sympathetic. “Probably around six days,” he said quietly.

                Sam nodded. Six days. Was it ironic that he kept ending up in fatal situations after failing the trials and choosing to live? He almost laughed, but decided that this wasn’t the right time.

                “Was there anything else?” the doctor asked, and then left when Sam shook his head.

                As soon as the doctor was out of the room Dean started speaking.

                “Look, Sam, I won’t let this happen, believe me. I’ll find something – a spell, a healer, whatever.” He sighed. “Cas can’t help – I talked to him already. Something about the borrowed Grace – the longer he has it, the less he can do with it. Apparently it’s already past healing. But maybe another angel-”

                “No.” Sam said. “No, Dean. Don’t. Please.”

                “But this is a matter of life and death!” Dean said angrily. “I won’t just let you-” he choked off the last word.

                “Yeah, Dean,” Sam said. “It’s a matter of _my_ life and _my_ death, and you don’t get the choice to _let_ me do anything! It’s _my_ body – not yours, not Meg’s, not Lucifer’s or Gadreel’s – _mine._ And if I don’t want you to do something to it, you are damn well going to listen to me or I swear to you that you will wish you had.”

                Dean looked taken aback by the outburst, and Sam was sort of surprised himself. He hadn’t meant to get that forceful, but he knew that he’d meant every word. He spoke again, softening his tone slightly.

                “Dean, if you need to look for stuff, fine. But I can’t let you do _anything_ without telling me, even if I need to pray to Cas to come here and stalk you. If you find something that works, and that _I_ find acceptable, that’s great. If you don’t…” he let the words trail off, knowing that they both understood the meaning.

                Dean shook his head, blinking furiously. “Sam,” he said again, and how he managed to sound angry and broken at the same time Sam would never know. “I can’t just-”

                “You can,” Sam told him. “And you will. It’s not your choice.”

***

                Sam, true to his word, evidently prayed to Castiel to come and guard him. The angel arrived early the next day, looking suitably grave.

                “Dean,” He greeted, although quietly since Sam was sleeping.

                “Sam called you.” It wasn’t a question.

                “Yes. He was … concerned. Does he need to be?”

                Dean blew out a long breath of air, absently rubbing the Mark on his arm. “I don’t know, Cas. I just don’t know how to- I can’t just- I need to do something, Cas!”

                Cas nodded, concern evident in his face. “I understand, Dean, and I am sorry that I cannot heal your brother. However, he has expressly asked me to make sure you do nothing without his permission, and I will honour that request.”

                “He doesn’t trust me,” Dean said bitterly.

                “Should he?” Castiel’s tone was flat and non-judgemental, but Dean flinched anyway.

                “Well,” he said, avoiding the question. “Not like I can do anything other than just researching with you here to watch my every move, huh?”

                “It appears not,” Castiel agreed, settling into a chair to watch Sam’s sleeping form with a grave and unblinking expression.

***

                Sam was relieved to see Castiel when he woke up. He was feeling worse than he had before, and now he was starting to feel weak and tired again, but it was freeing to see the angel and what he represented. Castiel may be fond of Dean, but Sam trusted him with this, despite what had happened in their past – or perhaps because of it. Castiel knew he had erred, and was actively seeking redemption. He wouldn’t allow Dean to make the same mistake he himself had once committed and alter Sam’s body or mind without consent.

                The two hadn’t noticed he’d woken, and he watched them research for a while, smiling softly. If this endless research was what Dean needed to get through these days (five left, now) Sam was okay with it. As long as it remained just research.

***

                Research was going nowhere. Dean scowled, shutting the laptop viciously and getting to his feet. Maybe he’d find something in one of the occult books he _hadn’t_ already gone through.

                The doctors had been actively working to help Sam, but his brother still had two, maybe three days at most. Dean and Cas had been looking for answers everywhere they could think of, but were finding nothing. If it were a normal illness, maybe they would have had some luck – but a blood disorder caused by something mixing badly with a demonic taint? Yeah, there was a surprising lack of coverage in the literature, and they’d found out the hard way that most faith healers were crap.

                The only option Dean could think of that was even mildly promising was begging one of Cas’ followers for help, and he knew Sam would never go for it. Still, he had to try.

                He waited until his brother was awake next – sometime around four in the afternoon – and gave him a few minutes to get his bearings before springing him with the potential plan.

                “No,” Sam said. “Not after last time.”

                “C’mon, Sam,” Dean coaxed, “it doesn’t have to be possession at all! Cas’ll be right here to watch, and the angel can just do his hand-thing and fix you up, no problem at all. Cas’s got followers out the wazoo who can help you.”

                Cas looked mildly sceptical at Dean’s description of his followers, but nodded at the overall sentiment. “Sam,” he reassured. “I will not let them possess you. I promise.”

                Sam thought about it for a long while, staring thoughtfully at a potted plant in the window. Finally, after five minutes of pondering, he came up with an answer.

                “Dean isn’t allowed in the room, and Cas has to be watching them at all times. I will not say anything at all in case someone takes it as sign of consent.”

                After he listed off his conditions Dean looked like he wanted to fight, but Castiel silenced him.

                “Okay, Sam,” he said. “I will contact someone immediately.”

                Sam had just opened his mouth to thank Cas when an angel materialized in the room.

                “Yes?” she asked.

***

                Sam was still hesitant about this plan, but he supposed that if he was careful, it was worth a shot. At least Dean seemed willing to stay out of it this time, which he supposed was something to be grateful for.

                The angel stepped toward him carefully, looking at Castiel for approval. He nodded, and she turned to Sam, hand out in front of her.

                “May I?” she asked, and when he nodded she placed her hand on his forehead.

                To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t expecting anything to come of it, so the pang of disappointment when she removed her hand and shook her head really wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

                It still hurt.

                “The demon blood is reacting with something,” she told him – no surprise there – “but I cannot fix it without purging you of the demon blood, and that is beyond my power.

                He sighed tiredly, but nodded. “Thank you for trying.” She had seemed like she genuinely wanted to help, so he made sure to keep his words free from bitterness.

                He wasn’t bitter about the prospect of dying – that didn’t really phase him all that much, and although he supposed that could be problematic he also really didn’t care. What did bother him was the fact that, once again, he was the ‘boy with the demon blood’ – the same blood that had defined his life would cause his death.

                It was fitting, but also sad. He had hoped that he could outrun that legacy at least in death, but he should have known it was too much to hope for.

                He didn’t realize he’d been speaking out loud until Castiel said, softly, “Is there anything I can do?”

                Sam shook his head. “No, Cas, sorry. It’s just I wish it could have been different, is all.”

                “Sam Winchester,” Castiel told him. “Your life has been much more than the blood in your veins. Do not sell yourself short because of something you could never have helped. You are more than the manner of your death and the external influences on your life.”

                Sam nodded, tears springing to his eyes. He blinked them away before they could show.

                Dean was angry that the angel hadn’t helped, but all he did was return to the occult books with a vengeful glint in his eye.

***

                It was eight days after Sam had received the transfusion, and they were out of time.

                Sam knew he was out of time – he figured he had maybe an hour tops, although how he knew that he couldn’t have said. Everything hurt, and he couldn’t move much beyond speaking and glancing over at Dean and Cas every once in a while. Dean had a peculiar expression on his face, and Sam knew he was going to speak before he did.

                “I may have found something,” he said, but he sounded hesitant enough to put Sam on guard.

                “What?” he asked.

                “It’s a type of water spirit,” Dean started, and he hefted a strange, mercurially-coloured gem in front of Sam’s face. “It can enter through any cut and cleanse the blood. It should cure you.”

                “What then?” Sam asked flatly. “Will it leave? Die?”

                Dean dropped his eyes. “Actually, they, uh…”

                “Dean,” Cas chided.

                “Fine!” he relented. “They stay and live in your blood and reproduce that way. But it’s not lethal, I swear! They just need to share for a while, is all.”

                “No,” Sam said. “I’m not letting anything in, and I’m not letting anything _share_ my body. I’ve done enough _sharing_ with my body to last me and three other people several lifetimes.”

                He coughed, and tasted blood. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

                Dean sat down next to him on the bed. “No, don’t apologize, Sammy. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. This is really hard for me to say, and I think we both know that if Cas weren’t here guarding you I’d have probably done something tremendously stupid by now, but …” he fidgeted. “You’re right. It’s not up to me.”

                “What?” Sam asked. He hadn’t known what to expect out of Dean when he finally realized that nothing was going to work, but it hadn’t been this.

                “It’s your body,” Dean said. “And I shouldn’t mess with it. I’m sorry. But Sammy, I just don’t know how to do this without you.”

                “I know, Dean,” Sam said, feeling his eyes slipping closed. “But you will. All I’m gonna ask of you is that you find a way to move on – whatever you need to do. You have Cas, and there are other people who’ll help you. Just … find something.”

                He didn’t hear Dean sobbing after his eyes slipped shut for the last time. He didn’t see Castiel’s expression of sorrow. He didn’t see the doctors rushing to his side to try one last time to get him back.

                He did see Death, and this time, he didn’t hesitate.

                “Sam” Death greeted him. “I thought I’d be seeing you again.”

                “What about the veil?” Sam asked. “I thought souls were stuck here. Why can I be reaped?”

                Death chuckled. “I’m not a mere reaper, Sam. I can take souls through the veil, although regrettably I do not have the time to take all of them.” His face turned serious again, and he looked Sam in the eye.

                “Are you ready to come with me?”

                Sam nodded, and took his hand.

                The next thing he was aware of was the mingling of voices around him. He blinked open his eyes and was greeted by Ash’s mullet-haired visage.

                “Sam!” he exclaimed. “Are you staying for real this time? Pam and I found Jo and Ellen, and Bobby’s here too. Want to help us with Metatron?”

                Sam got to his feet, relieved that he no longer felt the ache from his last week. “Sure,” he said, smiling at the faces around him. “But can we just catch up first?”

                What followed was a long night of talking, laughing, and plotting, and Sam found himself smiling more than he’d ever expected to. Part of him was still surprised he wasn’t back in the Cage – but pleasantly so. He hoped Dean was coping okay, but didn’t think there was much he could do about it now.

                Stopping Metatron, though? _That_ , he could work on – and he had friends with him to help.

                That alone was enough to keep him smiling.


End file.
